Shiver
by cannibal-man-and-a-jungle-girl
Summary: "Are you sure you want this?" He stared at his personal guardian angel: the pale skin, the black wings. He waited for him to grab hold again, bring him back to hell, back to reality. He found himself nodding in response. "I'm ready." AU


**Title:** Absolute Fear  
**Pairing:** Dean/Castiel  
**Summary**: "Are you sure you want this?" He stared at his personal guardian angel: the pale skin, the black wings. He waited for him to grab hold again, bring him back to hell, back to reality. He found himself nodding in response. "I'm ready."

A/N:  
If you've ever read the book called "_Shiver_", by Lisa Jackson, then you can guess the general idea. The main plot line (with John's death, and the asylum) is taken from that amazing book. Everything else, is either made up by me or by the Supernatural fandom.

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He had the dream again.

It's always the same. He's standing next to the car, present clutched in his hands, his fifteen year-old mind finding it hard to believe. Instead he allows the tears to fall, not caring about being brave for his younger brother, not caring about the doctors and nurses running to help; it was over. He stood cemented to the spot, his eyes glued to the body. His father seemed like a marionette doll, his limbs posed in ways that looked too painful. His eyes were glazed over, and yet they found Deans. A smile grew on the face, revealing blood-stained teeth that were once white. "I forgive you," the body always said, before fading away.

That's when the screaming began. The nurses grabbed him, trying to pull him away from his deceased father, but they couldn't. He could hear Sammy behind him, and his mother yelling at him. He fell to his father's side, not caring that the blood soaked into his pants. He shook him, not wanting to believe he was gone. His mother grabbed him, pulling him away; her mascara-stained face proof of the same pain that he felt. Dean kicked, punched, and screamed. He fought to get away, ignoring his brother's pleas. Instead, he looked up towards the room, the window broken of the stained glass, a few shards hanging on by a thread. And then he awakens.

He fights to hang on, to try to find out what was in the window, but his mind wouldn't let him. It was locked away, along with every other memory of that dreadful day; the constant reminder of a past that he couldn't get rid of, no matter how hard he tried. And try he did, downing it in spurts of anger and alcoholism, taking out anybody in his way. He broke away from his family, only keeping in contact with Sammy. Even that ended after a while, and he began taking refuge within himself. He didn't care; it would all be ending tonight.

Tonight, he would kill himself.

He thought it over countless times, went through countless endings and beginnings; changed plot lines and courses of actions. But it all ended the same: he, in a pool of his own blood, his hand wrapped around the family 'Colt action, muzzle still smoking. Of course, he thought of other ways: electrocution, drowning, hanging. He even attempted a few as a child, stopping once his brother walked in on him hanging with a cord around his neck, his body twitching with the last few kicks of life. He remembered the pain in his younger sibling's eyes, wondering why he would try such a thing. He remembered holding him, reassuring that he would never do such a thing again.

For some-one to care so much, they fell out of contact. Two years have passed since he even hung out with another human being, let alone his kid brother. After Sam graduated, he told Dean that he didn't want anything to do with the family. _'I have to get on with my own life,'_ he said at dinner. _'Forget about the death, unlike you all have'._ The day after, he left for college, leaving their mother all by herself. She finally gave up on life, dying of a broken heart. He, on the other hand, attempted to continue their father's line of work, pushing the past to the back of his mind. Two years since his last dreaming of it, and he finally had enough. This was why he chose tonight.

Tonight was the anniversary of their father's death, birth, and Dean's birth.

A ringing came from his nightstand, causing him to jump. Taking a quick glance at his alarm clock, he found it was four in the morning. "Damn," he found himself saying, reaching over and grabbing the vibrating machine. He shook his head, forcing the memories and thoughts away. If it was a client, he had to have a clear head, not mess anything up. Today he would focus on the essentials: making sure the house was clean, work with clients, spend some time in the studio. Then, sit down with a glass of wine and pull the trigger. A perfect way to go, he thought.

The phone number didn't register, coming up instead as '_Unknown_'. He paused, allowing it to continue to ring. Who would be calling him with an unregistered number? All his clients either were already programmed into his phone, or they came up on caller I.D. '_Come to think of it, I've never had an unregistered call_'. It continued to go, stopping after five rings. Dean put the phone on the nightstand again, getting up and stretching. No way would he be able to sleep, so he might as well get some work done.

When he finished dressing was when the phone began again. He cursed, walking over and picking it up again. The number was the same, the L.E.D. screen flashing '_Unknown_' through the darkness. He waited a few seconds, and then flipped open the phone, pushing the green button with a thumb. He pressed it to his face, feeling his irritation growing rapidly. "Hello?" he asked, trying to keep his anger in check. He wasn't even sure why he was angered, the dream probably rattled him.

Only deep breathing was recognizable; a raspy, deep tone. It replaced his anger with fear, chilling his spine. Was somebody messing with him? Who would be calling, and why weren't they answering? He repeated the question, forcing himself to keep calm. It was only his nerves acting up, nothing more. The person was probably busy with something, and only needed a moment to finish. Somehow, Dean knew this wasn't the case. "Who is this?"

The answer he got wasn't one he was expecting. It was only two words, but those two words haunted him, causing him to fall against his bed. It was in a pleading voice, but it sparked something within him.

"Come back."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam had been livid.

He wanted to know why Dean was on his front porch at five in the morning, awakening him and his wife. He yelled until he was red in the face, and Dean just stood there and let him go until he was out of breath. Sam ran a hand through his hair, and then went on about how irresponsible his older sibling is, how he thought he was done with this for the last few years. Only when he invited Dean in, introduced him to his wife, and gave him a beer did he speak. Sam wasn't ready for what he had to say.

"Yo-you want to…what?" Sam sputtered, coughing. When he heard what Dean mentioned, he choked on his beer, running to get a napkin. "Dean, not to be mean or anything, but are you high? I thought we agreed that we would put that place behind us?"

'_No, you decided, I had no choice seeing as you left right after,_' he thought this, keeping it to himself. The last thing he needed was an argument to ruin the reunion. He waited again, allowing Sam to compose himself. He sipped his beer, choosing his words carefully. '_What exactly am I getting at? Did I expect something miraculous to happen?_'

"Sammy, I'm not high. And," he held up a hand, stopping his brother from speaking. "I'm not drunk either." He leaned back against the kitchen chair, placing the long-necked bottle on the wooden table. "I'm just saying that we need closure is all." He studied the room, allowing his brother's words to go in one ear and out the other. It was the same: Are you sure you're okay? What would bring this on? He came to a conclusion that Sam did good for himself, the kitchen modest but not to gaudy. Then again, that was probably his wife's doing. '_Sam was never much of a cooker._'

"I had the dream again."

He went into the whole account, keeping out the part about the phone-call. If Sam noticed, he didn't say anything. He just sat and listened, allowing his silence to edge Dean on. When he finished, he reached forward and grabbed the beer, taking a long swallow. Sam kept his eyes on the table, rubbing his chin in thought. Finally, he looked up, concern clear on his face. "And, you believe this was a sign to go back?"

'_No, this is a mental breakdown; the phone call was the sign._'

"Yeah, I take it as a sign. We high-tailed it out of there the moment Dad died. Mom never talked about it, you never talked about it. I sure as hell never talked about it, so we need to do this. If you don't want to, it's fine. I know how you are about family." He got up, acting like he didn't see his younger brother flinched at those last words. He put the empty bottle on the table, nodding towards Sam. He began walking towards the door, wondering why he even came here in the first place. A hand grabbed his arm when he reached the walkway.

"Dean," Sam hesitated, looking away. Dean waited with a hand on the door handle. "I'm not sure if I could go. I'm not strong like you, I never was." He dropped his hand, folding his arms across his chest. He kept his gaze toward the ground. "You can keep the feelings inside, I can't. That's why I left, and I accepted that fact. But, you come back here and say we have to go there…how do you think that makes me feel?"

Dean stared into his brothers' face, seeing all the years of hard-ship finally come to light. It was true; Sam was never good with keeping this inside. That's why it almost killed him when Dean tried to off himself, frightened him to the point where he would never leave his older brother alone. He looked down, taking his hand off the door handle. Before he knew it, he was hugging Sammy like when they were younger. His brother went rigid for a minute, and then leaned into the embrace.

"Sam, I promise I'll make it better, trust me with this." He let go, opening the door. "You don't have to come; I mainly just wanted to make sure you were okay. Well, see you around." He left his brother on his front porch, walking into the Impala and cranking it up. It still smelled faintly of their father's cigarettes, cheap booze, and sin. A song came on the radio, and he turned it up as he pulled out of the driveway, letting the song fill the small space.

"_Take my hand, and we'll make it I swear,"_

"Whoa, living on a prayer," he found himself singing along, and it made him laugh. Seeing Sam opened something inside that he attempted to hide for so long, and visiting the hospital would be the icing on the cake. He felt his phone vibrate, and threw it on the passenger seat. If it was important, they would leave a message. If not, then oh-well.

He turned off onto the free-way, singing Bon Jovie and trying to act like his life was normal. '_A small lie,_' he thought as he past the sign from his childhood. '_Hopefully, that's all it is._'

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Reviews are always welcomed :)


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